


Today Was a Fairytale

by kjack89



Series: The Story of Us (Fairytale AU) [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Crack, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Quests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1434370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which someone thinks it's a good idea to send Sir Grantaire on a quest to rescue a princess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Today Was a Fairytale

**Author's Note:**

> Another in the series of "fics I meant to put on AO3 and forgot to do so." This one will hopefully have a part two, at some point, eventually, probably.
> 
> And now, on a completely different note...
> 
> I know not many people read the notes but I want to start something here that I'm going to try to add to all of my usual disclaimers that go at the top of my fics, and that's the simple reminder: " **Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos.** " There been an ongoing discussion [on my blog](http://kjack89.tumblr.com/tagged/on-the-continued-subject-of-constructive-criticism) about the importance of feedback to fanfic writers and how much of a struggle it can be to receive feedback, especially in this fandom. And I want to add this reminder because much like with delivery drivers, where some restaurants will print reminders on receipts to tip delivery drivers, sometimes readers need to be reminded that what we do as fic writers is hard and often very thankless work, and asking that you take a few seconds to kudos or leave your fanfic writers a quick comment (whether complimentary or critical) doesn't seem like too extreme a request to make. 
> 
> And I want to emphasize that I'm not saying or doing this for my sake, but the amount of people I've seen struggle with writing and publishing to the resounding silence who then feel like they shouldn't write anymore is enough for me to ask my readers, to ask the people who casually clicked on this fic not expecting something like this in the notes, to please be kind to your fanfic writers. It's a symbiotic relationship between writers and readers, and we need you to let us know that sometimes, you need us and you appreciate what we've put forward.
> 
> And now, back to your regularly scheduled E/R fic. Usual disclaimer applies.

The sun dawned over the castle Musain, and the knights of the realm were, for the most part, gathered in the throne room, awaiting word from the king on what tasks he would put forth to them that day.

When the king had settled onto his throne, the court wizard, Combeferre, cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Sire, if I may have permission to speak?”

The king waved his hand lazily. “You have never needed my permission before, Combeferre. Speak your piece.”

Combeferre cleared his throat, looking around at the assembled knights. “Sire, I have had many visions, visions of quests that require your knights to complete them. I propose putting these visions forward to your knights to see who is brave enough to accept them.”

Leaning forward in his throne, the king propped his chin on his hand, looking intrigued. “Please, continue. I would hear of these quests, as, I assume, would my knights.”

The knights nodded, some looking excited, some looking grave. The youngest among the assembled knights, who had been squire until only a fortnight previous but bore the proud new title of Sir Prouvaire, grinned and nudged another knight, Sir Bahorel, in the ribs. Combeferre frowned slightly. “These quests are not to be taken lightly. They are dangerous, and may require a knight to put his life on the line.”

Looking back toward the king, Combeferre started, “The first quest I saw in my vision was the quest to rescue a beautiful lady, the Lady Cosette. She and her father, Lord Valjean, have been plagued by ferocious drakon, Javert.”

Sir Pontmercy, a thin, slightly nervous-looking knight with a spate of freckles across his nose and cheeks stepped forward, blushing scarlet before saying in a reedy voice, “If it pleases you, Sire, I shall undertake this quest. I have met Lady Cosette previously, and…”

If possible, he blushed even darker, and Sir Feuilly nudged Sir Bahorel on his other side, sniggering. “He means that he has fallen in love, Sire.”

“What was it he said?” Sir Bahorel asked, grinning. “That he had been 'struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight'?”

Sir Prouvaire’s grin was as wide as Sir Bahorel’s, though gentler. “It is a thing of beauty, Sire, and you should let Sir Pontmercy undertake this quest, if only to give Joly the apothecary a rest from Marius knocking on his door every day to see if Joly has yet developed a remedy for heartsickness.”

The king laughed jovially. “Oh very well. Sir Pontmercy, you shall take this quest to save your lady love. What is the next quest, Combeferre?”

Combeferre nodded at Marius, who gave him a nervous grin, and then announced, “The second quest requires a knight willing to traverse through the most foul of forests, the Dark Forest of Brujon. Baron de Courfeyrac will be lost there in only a few short days, or so my vision tells me, and will require a knight to help him through its perils.”

Now Sir Prouvaire stepped forward, after glancing briefly at Sir Bahorel, who nodded at him. “I would claim this quest, Sire. I have always had a gentle touch with plants, and the darkness does not faze me. I will rescue the wayward duke.”

“If it pleases you,” the king said comfortably, sitting back in his throne. He switched his gaze to Combeferre. “Any other quests?”

Nodding again, Combeferre said gravely, “The final quest is the most dangerous. My final vision is of a dragon-guarded keep far away, and there, locked in a tower, a beautiful princess. Based on my vision, she has been locked in the tower for many years, and the dragon has only grown in size and strength. This is a quest for only the most formidable of knights.”

All eyes instantly turned to Sir Bahorel, who was the most physically imposing of the knights present. Sir Bahorel shrugged and stepped forward but the king shook his head. “Sir Bahorel is needed for his duties here, as is Sir Feuilly. They are Captains of the Guard, and we cannot afford to have them gone for as long as this quest might take.” He frowned and surveyed the assembled people, most assorted nobles and courtiers. “Is there no other knight available to take this quest?”

After a long moment, Sir Prouvaire raised his hand. “Um, sire. The only knight left is, well…Sir Grantaire.”

* * *

 

The knight in question was currently asleep, curled comfortably into a pile of hay in the stable, having had far too much wine the night before at the tavern in town, and, finding the ground far too unstable under his feet, had made his bed in the stable. He had done this several times before, and luckily was on good terms with Bossuet the horse master.

A good thing it was that they were on good terms, because Grantaire was rather rudely awoken by Bossuet tossing a bucketful of water on his face. Spluttering, Grantaire sat bolt upright. “Whazzat?” he managed, running his hand across his face. When he saw Bossuet laughing at him, he threw a handful of hay in his general direction. “Was that entirely necessary?”

“For once, yes,” Bossuet said, setting the bucket down. “You’ve been summoned for an audience with the king.”

Grantaire made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and stood gingerly, wincing. “Fuck, when did the sun get so bright?” he grumbled, shuffling toward the nearest stall, rubbing the velvety nose of the steed inside, a dark brown mare, who whinnied and nudged his hand. “I don’t have any apples for you, Ép. I don’t even have any goddamn apples for me.”

Bossuet leaned against the stall. “Did you not hear me?” he asked mildly. “You have an audience with the king who, at last checking, was not exactly the most patient of men. Your horse will wait; the king will not.”

“Hush, honey, he didn’t mean it,” Grantaire said soothingly to Éponine, who had snorted at Bossuet. “When will you learn that Éponine is far more than just a horse? Besides, if the king wants an audience, it’s only so he can chide me for one thing or another that I’ve forgotten to do, or done and forgotten. And since I haven’t yet heard about your rendezvous with Joly and Lady Musichetta, the king’s ward…”

He trailed off and Bossuet grinned, the grin of a very satisfied man. “Well—” he started, but broke off as Sir Pontmercy strode purposefully into the stable.

“I have need for a horse,” Marius said in a voice that was trying to be firm but slid into a squeak as he continued talking. “I have been assigned a quest.”

Bossuet nodded and hurried to ready Mabeuf, the gentle gelding that Marius normally rode as Marius walked over to Éponine, who was nickering excitedly at seeing him. “Oh, hello Ép,” Marius said distractedly, rubbing her nose. He noticed Grantaire for the first time. “Oh! Sir Grantaire. What are you doing in the stables? Have you heard about your quest?”

“What quest?” Grantaire asked blankly.

* * *

 

“What quest?” Grantaire repeated, not even fifteen minutes later, having given up on making himself look presentable and just putting on his least-stained doublet before going to the throne room (only to be redirected to Combeferre’s chamber, since the king had already cleared the court).

Combeferre raised an eyebrow at his disheveled look but wisely did not comment on it. “The king has assigned for you a quest to rescue a princess from a tower. You do not have the option to deny the quest; the king himself has commanded it.”

Grantaire made a face. “A princess?” he repeated. “Firstly, I am clearly not the, uh, princess-rescuing type. As you know. Secondly…can the fact that I just don’t want to be reason enough to not?”

Shrugging, Combeferre sat in his chair, looking unconcerned. “It could be.” He fixed Grantaire with a pointed gaze. “But you would have to be the one to tell the king.”

Grantaire paled. “Well, shit,” he sighed.

* * *

 

“Well, shit,” Grantaire said, patting Éponine’s neck as she whinnied nervously, both of them staring at the massive tower sitting on top of a mountain. “This is going to be complicated.”

It was doubly complicated when the great black dragon reared on his massive legs and sent a plume of flame into the sky. “Shit,” Grantaire repeated.

He had been on this ridiculous quest for almost two months now, with the beard to prove it. It had taken them this entire time to find this stupid tower with the stupid princess inside, and now there was a dragon to be dealt with.

If it weren’t for the fact that Combeferre had personally promised him his pick of the kingdom’s vintages when he returned, Grantaire would probably have given up a long time ago. As it was, he was beginning to suspect that even the promise of wine was not enough to make up for this beastly quest.

He stroked Éponine’s neck, pursing his lips as he thought. “How about diversionary tactics?” he mused aloud. “Are you up for some fast paced running? Or are you too tired?”

She tossed her head and snorted, stamping her hooves on the ground. “Ok, ok!” Grantaire laughed, patting her soothingly. “I just wanted to make sure. The last thing that I would want would be for my noble steed to get eaten by a dragon. Especially on account of some spoiled brat of a princess.”

Not even ten minutes later, he had stripped all of his gear off of Éponine to make it easier for her to run. “Alright,” he said, resting his forehead against her nose and stroking her cheek gently, “run fast, run hard, run like the wind, run like Montparnasse is chasing you when you’re in heat — I jest, I jest. But seriously. Take care. And come back. I can’t tote the damn princess home all on my own.”

Whinnying softly, she nudged him gently and then turned, blowing in his face before she took off at a canter. Grantaire waited until the dragon had roared and launched into the air after Éponine before he sighed and began to climb the mountain.

* * *

 

Grantaire would have gladly traded the climb up the mountain for another two months of traipsing across the country. “This princess had better be damn worth it,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his sore arm muscles as he shouldered the door to the keep open.

He barely had time to glance around before someone hit him on the back of the head and everything went black.

When he came to, Grantaire blinked blearily, staring blankly as the figure in front of him swam into view. “Have I died and gone to heaven?” Grantaire slurred, assuming that the golden-haired man staring at him must be an angel. He was beautiful enough to be an angel, anyway.

“Sadly, no,” the man told him, tightening his grip on what Grantaire now realized was an incredibly thick book. “You appear to have survived. Answer my questions and I might let you out of here alive.”

Grantaire blinked and made no move to sit up, instead just holding his hands up placatingly. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold your horses here. I don’t know what you’re doing here and why you hit me in the head - and why you’re apparently threatening to kill me - but I’m not here for you. I’m here to recognize some princess.”

The man sat back, frowning. “Who sent you?”

“The king. Well, technically the king’s wizard, who had a vision that sent me on this godforsaken quest.” Grantaire winced as he rubbed his head. “But seriously. I’m just here for the princess. And then I’ll let you get back to…whatever you’ve been doing in an abandoned castle with only a giant dragon for company.”

Though the man’s frown deepened, he muttered off-handedly, “Combeferre’s not such a bad dragon after you get to know him, actually.”

Grantaire looked up, confused. “Combeferre?” he asked.

“My best friend from childhood,” the man told him, rubbing his smooth jaw thoughtfully. “When I was first exiled here as a child, I thought it would make the dragon seem friendlier if I named him after someone that I knew, and so he became Combeferre.”

“Exiled?” Grantaire repeated, groaning as his head throbbed. “What do you mean exiled?”

The man shrugged. “I was exiled by my father from our small southern kingdom. I had aims of changing the kingdom to a constitutional monarchy and restoring power to the people when I took over as king, and my father decided the easiest way to get rid of me would be to exile me here. Combeferre always did promise that he’d try and find a way to get me out of here, but as the years passed I gave up on that. It was a fool’s promise, the kind young boys make, I suppose.”

Now Grantaire closed his eyes, realization sinking in. “I, uh, I think Combeferre might actually have kept his promise. Combeferre also happens to be the name of the wizard who had the vision that sent me on this quest. And if you’re the son of a king, then that would make you…”

“A prince. Prince Enjolras, to be precise,” the prince finished, brushing his gold curls away from his eyes. “And did you say wizard? I always wondered if there was something supernatural about Combeferre. It would certainly explain a lot.”

Grantaire was still trying to wrap his head around what he had just figured out. “Um,” he started, then stopped, because his brain seemed to hurt. Because the princess he had been sent to rescue wasn’t a princess. The princess was a prince. An ungodly beautiful prince currently staring at Grantaire with a deep scowl marring his marble-featured perfect face and his grip on a book that he had already used to hit Grantaire in the head once, and would undoubtedly do so again. “Shit,” Grantaire croaked from his position on the ground.

Prince Enjolras crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Who are you to have been sent to rescue some princess?” he snapped.

Groaning and shifting into a sitting position, Grantaire rubbed the back of his neck as he looked up at the prince. “I’m Sir Grantaire,” he muttered. “And technically speaking, I’m here to rescue  _you_.”

The prince’s eyebrows shot up and practically disappeared into his perfect golden curls as he dragged his gaze up and down Grantaire’s disheveled appearance. “You?” he asked imperiously. “You think that you’re going to rescue  _me_?”

And as if everything in the world that had conspired against Grantaire wasn’t enough, the prince threw his head back and began to laugh. Grantaire just lay back against the floor and closed his eyes.

He had been right. No wine in the world was worth this.


End file.
